


Mundus, Caro, et Diabolus

by Threadbear



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Confessional, M/M, Masturbation, Priest AU, Priest Kink, Priest Severus Snape, Snirius Discord's StarPrince Kinktober 2020, Temptation, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threadbear/pseuds/Threadbear
Summary: Father Snape would think Sirius Black was sent by the devil if he still believed in that sort of thing.Written for the Snirius Kinktober prompt list. Prompt = Temptation (Priest AU).
Relationships: Sirius Black/Severus Snape
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47
Collections: StarPrince Kinktober 2020





	Mundus, Caro, et Diabolus

**Author's Note:**

> The title translates to 'the world, the flesh, and the devil' and refers in Christian theology to the three temptations of the soul.

“Bless me father for I have sinned.”

Father Snape swallowed and when he opened his mouth to speak he was ashamed to find his voice was thick and rough. “How long has it been since your last confession?” _Weak_ , he thought.

“Five days Father.”

He looked through the grill, the crisscrossing pattern shadowed his handsome face but he needn’t have looked to know who it was. Sirius Black. His worst parishioner. Sent by the devil, if one still believed in that sort of thing.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I have to confess Father?”

Always he repeats his honorific; like an incantation, like a taunt. Even the way he said his name was an abomination.

“You can’t keep doing this.”

“But I have something to confess Father. Surely you would not refuse a child of God absolution?”

The words of his teacher come to him now: The face of Satan may appear innocent but that is the manner in which he seduces. You are no child of God, Father Snape thought. “Very well.” He said. “Confess your sins.”

“I’ve been having impure thoughts.” Impure thoughts. Always it is impure thoughts. His breathing quickened. He did not tell him to stop.

“I have had thoughts about a man of God. A priest. I have wanted, um... carnal knowledge of him. I have imagined him just absolutely railing me against the pulpit, Father. When I sit in his, ah, sermons I’m hard and leaking just listening to his voice, and I imagine him watching me and knowing that I’m so hard for him. He’s a man of God, Father but his voice is goddamned sin. Excuse my language Father.”

“Improper thoughts are a common human failing but are no true sin until they are acted upon.” It was almost as if he were trying to convince himself. The thought is father to the act. That was what he’d been taught and it was what he believed. Unforgivable to even say it.

“But I have, Father. I have acted on them. Many times.”

“How have you acted on them? Tell me and perhaps you may absolve them.” His cassock was loose and voluminous and hid all manner of sins but he didn’t have to see to know that his prick was stiff and throbbing beneath the volumes of cloth. He would _not_ be tempted by earthly pleasures. He was possessive of a disciplined mind. More so than most.

“I have touched myself. My penis. It gets so hard Father when I think of him, I don’t know what else to do. I imagine sitting on his lap and his thick c- penis filling me, it would probably hurt at first Father, then it would feel so good that I would probably moan because I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. When I think of that Father I get so wet and hard that as soon as I put a hand on myself I start coming in thick ropes of jizz - sorry I mean ejaculate, - thick ropes of ejaculate Father. I feel so bad when I do that Father. Sinful. I know it’s a sin Father but I can’t help it.”

“Is that all you have to confess child? The hour is late.”

“There’s more. At my last confession I thought about putting my mouth on him. I thought about what he would taste like and what he would feel like in my mouth. I wondered if he was cut.” The man rubbed himself through his trousers.

He had always known he wasn’t a good priest; too vengeful, too much pride, too unforgiving. But he had always been chaste. He knew from an early age what he was, knew it was an obscenity that he could never bear. The priesthood for him was more penance than vocation, though he knew he hadn’t been the only one. Never had he known the touch of a woman. _Never_ had he known...

Please God, if you’re there, help me to not tell this man my dick is cut.

Father Snape could see through the grill that Black was rubbing himself in earnest now, his bulge prominent and large.

He shifted in his seat and the fabric of his cassock dragged over his erection. Impossibly, he swelled even further.

“Father? Do you think there’s something wrong with it? Perhaps if you looked at it you could tell me.” His hand moved up to the button of his pants and hovers. “Father?”

Father Snape closed his eyes. End this, he implored to himself. You can and you must. “Show me.” He croaked.

The button and zipper are undone in an instant and from within he pulled out what must be a magnificent example of manhood, though he only had his own to compare. A blushing, dusky pink bathed in shadow, tall and proud grasped within Black’s fist. He pressed himself to the grill and though the visage isn’t clear, he sees enough. It is more than enough. His own breathing is heavy and laboured.

The other man moved his hand quickly, surely, up and down its length, head thrown back exposing his throat and the six o’clock shadow under his jaw. “Father, tell me. Tell me, tell me Father. Tell me, _God_.”

“May our Lord Jesus Christ absolve you; and by His authority I absolve you from every bond of excommunication and interdict,” he says. Black groaned softly and his hand moved faster. “So far as my power allows and your needs require. Thereupon, I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

“God yes. _Father_.” Black gasped and thick, viscous liquid spurted out of the top of his throbbing penis and oozed its way over his fist.

“Amen.” Father Snape finished, his voice approaching a whisper.

Black cleaned himself up with the tissues who’s purpose was absolutely not this execration and Father Snape thinks about the privacy of his quarters, of his narrow bed with its stiff sheets, how a single touch of his hand would...

“Father perhaps if you would ...? No. Never mind.”

“Speak child.” He said. “Perhaps if I would what?”

“Perhaps if you would see me in your private quarters, you could teach me Father, show me how to live without sin. Show me the right path Father. I’m so lost. I need your guidance.”

“That is not possible.”

“I don’t see why you keep saying that.”

He sighed. “You can’t keep coming here.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

“Is it?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He closed it again.

“I’ll see you Sunday Father.”

There’s the soft snick of the door then the echo of footfalls.

He looked through the grill once more and saw a single soiled tissue left in place of where he had sat. He left his booth and stole quietly into the neighbouring one, his hand darted out and the tissue stored deep within his garments.

Father Snape looked skyward. Can you hear me lord? He thought. Are you still with me?


End file.
